“Miss Elincia is in danger,” Zaon said.

My blood froze. Zaon couldn’t be right. Not a minute had passed since Elincia and the kids crossed the door into the fighter’s pavilion, and guards were supposed to protect the place. However, Zaon seemed confident in his Sentinel’s Oath. My feet were already moving before I could make any guesses about what kind of danger might have crept into the Great Hall.

I opened the door with Zaon stuck on my heels, and we crossed the small garden patch at full speed. I barged into the pavilion and swept the room with my eyes. The groups of kids sat on their respective benches, waiting for the second round to start. Nothing in their demeanor suggested danger.

By the further side of the pavilion, next to the chalkboard with the scores, Lord Herran put a hand on Elincia’s shoulder. At that moment, I felt how Elincia siphoned my mana and moved Lord Herran’s hand aside. Despite not being a violent movement, the contact threw a burst of blue mana sparks.

“Please, Lord Herran, this is not the moment for flirting,” Elincia said, her voice cutting like a cold scalpel.

“I haven’t heard a no,” Lord Herran replied, pushing his abundant red hair to the side. “What’s so great about Farcrest anyway? Come with me to the Towers of Neskarath, and I will decorate your neck with gold and emeralds worked by the best jewelers on the continent.”

I stepped forward, but Zaon grabbed my arm before storming into the pavilion. “Lord Herran is over level fifty with a Prestige Class.”

I eased Zaon’s grip with a half smile. “The Prince’s dog can at least bark.”

Elincia took a step back before Lord Herran could touch her arm.

“Ladies don’t like pushy dudes, Lord Herran,” I greeted loud enough for the whole pavilion to hear.

The conversation stopped.

Lord Herran raised his head, and Elincia seized the moment to jump to my side. Just like I wanted, the attention of the nobles inside the pavilion fell upon us. I didn’t expect to push Lord Herran with my current status, but not even a level fifty Prestige Class was free from peer pressure and public humiliation, and every experienced teacher knew how to work with both of them.

“And nobody likes meddling runts,” he replied, trying to save some face.

Lord Herran towered before me; he was almost two meters tall, and his shoulders were twice as broad as mine. He wore a black and red fencing uniform, different from the opulent clothing of the other nobles, and his hardened hands seemed accustomed to wielding the heavy black axe on his side. Lord Herran wasn’t one of those phony nobles like Lord Nara.

“Robert Clarke, Headmaster of the Rosebud Fencing Academy,” I introduced myself.

Contrary to Earth, the nobles’ power in Ebros came from their dynasty's average Class and Level across the years. As a result, the relationship between nobles and commoners wasn’t completely vertical but depended, to a certain extent, on the Class and Level of the individuals. Considering my recent achievements, I had some small leeway to piss on nobles. I just had to thread carefully.

“Ah, the caretaker,” Lord Herran smirked. “A man should be able to provide for his family, but I’m sure the royal sponsorship will help sort things out at your orphanage.”

I grinned back. Lord Herran wasn’t the complete musclehead I expected. He wanted to discredit me. It was a good strategy. The words of a lower caretaker shouldn’t be able to sting a duke's face.

“Malnourished kids wouldn’t be able to reach these heights, Lord Herran. I assure you, we are a serious organization with aims toward excellence,” I replied, trying to keep myself up to his level. I decided to sprinkle the conversation with a dash of intrigue. “Prince Adrien seems interested in the educational practices of the Kingdom of Connecticut, so I foresee a long-lasting association.”

I needed to keep Lord Herran second-guessing how much he could push me around without summoning the Prince’s anger.

“I think we can both agree that fortune favors the bold,” I said.

“You are certainly a lucky man, Robert Clarke,” Lord Herran said, looking at Elincia. “What about a little bet? To test our luck, I mean.”

I followed Lord Herran’s eyes and made a supreme effort not to massage my temples. Didn’t he have enough children already? Ginz had told me he sired between one and six each year, which made sense considering his team comprised five of his kids—all strong redheads.

The little self-control I had managed to muster was running dry.

“As long as we wager things of similar value, I don’t see a problem,” I replied.

Lord Herran smiled triumphantly as we left the rhetoric duel behind and entered braggart territory.

“If I win, I want the lady to visit Neskarath. Of course, I will accommodate her in the High Tower of Neskarath as a guest of honor, and I will ensure the servants meet all her needs,” Lord Herran said.

I nodded, pondering on my response. My patience had run out.

“Well?” Lord Herran smirked.

“If I win, I want you to appoint me as your only heir,” I said, marking my words so everyone could follow the conversation. “Then, I want your head on a plate. I think that would be enough.”

Lord Herran’s hand shot to his belt, but Captain Kiln grabbed his wrist before he could draw. The black axe pulsated with malicious intent.

“Think about what you are going to do, Lord Herran. You wanted to place a bet, and he replied with something of equal value,” Captain Kiln grunted, her bicep bulging and threatening to tear her uniform open.

Red mana crept from Lord Herran’s body, and he seemed to grow in size and presence; however, I remained unfazed.

“Let go, Kiln, this is between him and me,” Lord Herran said.

“Rob is protected by old imperial law, Lord Herran. If you want to demand satisfaction, he is entitled to a royal champion,” Captain Kiln grunted.

“Enough, Leo. Use the correct head for once. We don’t want more trouble with the royals,” a tall redhead man who looked like a carbon copy of Lord Herran, although dressed in an opulent garb with golden stoles, crossed the pavilion and stood between us. His presence wasn’t as oppressive as Lord Herran’s, but he wasn’t too far behind.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The Herran genes were scary.

Lord Herran pushed Captain Kiln aside and turned around. The nobles looked away as he moved through the benches, and I knew I had gotten off lightly. Lord Herran’s clone gave me a quick nod and returned to his team.

“If you don’t want to get us killed one day, you need to stop running your mouth, Rob. Lord Herran is level fifty! Prestige Class!” Elincia slapped my shoulder. However, she didn’t seem angry at all.

I studied her face, but she looked away when our eyes met.

“I can’t allow some pushy dude to pester you,” I said, but she didn’t look in my direction.

Captain Kiln sighed.

“If a fight started, we would’ve won. Although, I would’ve been obliged to reveal my secret technique,” Captain Kiln said, putting her heavy arm around my shoulder. “You owe me, still. Coin, booze, or gambling games, your call.”

Elincia sighed. “Secret technique? What are you, a five-year-old?”

“You don’t defeat a Forest Warden without a couple of aces under your sleeve, missy,” Captain Kiln replied. “Now go. The Master of Ceremonies was waiting for you two to finish your stupid exchange to start the day. You’ll pay me later.”

I grabbed Elincia’s hand and walked back to our bench.

“You need to stop making nobles mad, Rob,” Elincia whispered.

“You wouldn’t get it. It’s in my blood. When the Brit–” I replied, but she put a hand over my mouth.

“I’m talking seriously. Look,” Elincia pointed across the pavilion.

Lord Herran had the Master of Ceremonies cornered against the weapons rack. The poor man shook his head, but Lord Herran was having none of it. After a minute of hushed discussion, they broke up, and the Master of Ceremonies entered the arena.

“Everything is alright?” Ilya asked as soon as we sat.

“Mister Clarke just defended Miss Elincia’s honor from Lord Herran. It was awesome,” Zaon said before I could answer.

“Shu is going to love it when she hears about it,” Firana pointed out.

“Which she will not,” I interjected.

Our conversation ended as the Master of Ceremonies started with the formalities of the competition. Once again, he eulogized the Marquis’ grandfather, Stephaniss of Farcrest, and his work raising Farcrest from the ground up after a particularly nasty Monster Surge. In the meantime, more and more spectators filled the stands. [Awareness] told me that the Geomancers had raised two new levels that weren’t there before. The Marquis and the Prince seemed to want everybody in the city watching the tournament.

“It seems we are going dead last today,” Firana said, pointing at the chalkboard at the back of the pavilion.

“That’s better for us. The crowd will go home with the picture of our team winning,” Ilya replied.

I examined the VIP box. Prince Adrien was sitting on the wooden throne in the front. Sir Janus was nowhere to be found, and I wondered if he would come to meet me again. We still had to discuss the details of the heist.

“For the day's first match, Team Herran against Lowell’s Orphanage!” The Master of Ceremonies announced, and the stands exploded with thunderous applause.

I raised my head, confused. Across the pavilion, Lord Herran gave me a vicious glance. That explained the brief discussion with the Master of Ceremonies.

“Better for me,” Firana jumped to her feet. “I hate waiting.”

“Stick to the plan and we will win,” Ilya replied, following Firana.

Elincia gave me a little push, and I followed the kids into the arena. The crowd cheered as we exited the pavilion. Despite the cold and the dark clouds, all the city seemed to be there. At least it seemed like it wasn’t going to rain.

I found myself walking by Lord Herran’s side.

“You should’ve stayed silent, Scholar, and I would have even considered donating a bag of gemstones to the orphanage,” he said.

“I can’t go against my nature, Lord Herran, and I think you can’t either. We both do whatever we like, damned be the consequences,” I replied.

Lord Herran grinned. “More reason to get you out of the way.”

We formed a line in front of the Herran kids, and the Scribes dragged the Shrine Shard to the middle of the arena. The Shrine had already revealed the kids' Classes on the first day of the competition, but the organizers wanted to ensure everyone stayed within the designated level. I glanced at the enemy team. This time, we had come prepared.

The Master of Ceremonies activated the orb.

Jorvyn Herran, Berserker Lv.2

Vigdis Herran, Snow Mage Lv.8

Sig Herran, Pugilist Lv.1

Kaeli Herran, Mountain Druid Lv.5

Dreva Herran, Forgemaster Lv.7

Firana Aias, Wind Fencer Lv.1

Ilya, Hunter Lv.2

Zaon, Sentinel Lv.1

Wolf, Classless Lv.1

I wondered what people did to get those classes.

“Team Herran ended the previous round with a better score, so they get to choose first,” the Master of Ceremonies announced. “Which one will be your first contender, Lord Herran?”

Lord Herran didn’t hesitate. “Jorvyn, you go first.”

Jorvyn Herran, the Berserker, took a step forward. Jorvyn had inherited his father’s muscular physique, bright red hair, and chiseled features. He was the only human of the bunch. Back on Earth, a school’s wrestling coach would’ve moved land and sea to have it in their team.

“Wolf, your turn,” I replied almost instantly.

Our plan was straightforward. Wolf was our weakest member skill-wise, so I had to avoid getting him counter-picked and ensure he had a good matchup. Considering his lack of skills, Berserker and Pugilist were Wolf’s most favorable opponents.

“Firana, you go now,” I said.

No matter Lord Herran’s pick, Firana’s skill was enough to rise to the challenge.

“Dreva, you go against the Aias kid,” Lord Herran said.

Dreva, the half-orc Forgemaster, stepped forward. Like her half-brother, Dreva Herran had curly, short hair in the color copper. Her tusks were stumpy, her build was muscular, and her eyebrows were as bushy as Wolf’s. But, unlike Wolf, her skin was darker, like a layer of ash had adhered to her.

“Bummer, I wanted to fight Tusk-boy,” Dreva sighed.

“Just do as your old man says, kid,” Lord Herran scolded her, although his voice was warm.

Forgemaster wasn’t a bad matchup for Firana. However, Forgemaster and Berserker were Ilya’s good matchups. At this rate, she would end up against one of the magical classes, and we wanted to avoid that at all costs.

“Who would be next?” The Master of Ceremonies said.

“Kaeli, you go next,” Lord Herran said.

Kaeli was the beastfolk Mountain Druid. Considering the long ears and the antlers, she had to be a jackalope-spirit beastfolk. Kaeli was slimmer than her siblings, almost frail in comparison. Unlike them, her hair was darker, nearly brown. And she wasn’t a good match for Ilya, but if I chose Zaon, then Lord Herran would counterpick the gnome girl. It was fifty-fifty. Ilya had the class advantage against a Pugilist but a disadvantage against a Snow Mage.

“Zaon, you go against her,” I said.

Zaon nodded; we counted on his natural speed to counter the enemy spells.

Only the last one remained.

“Ilya, you go last.”

Lord Herran smirked.

“Vigdis, you go against the gnome.”

Vigdis, the beastfolk Snow Mage, jumped forward. She was a fox-spirit beastfolk with bright orange hair and pointy ears. Unlike the other beastfolk I had met, black fur covered her arms up to the elbow.

“This will be funny,” Vigdis said.

“I don’t want to see you fooling around, Vig. You promised you would take this seriously,” Lord Herran reprimanded her, and it sounded to me like they had had this same conversation half a dozen times already.

The fox girl sighed.

“So be it. The first match of the second round will be between Jorvyn Herran, the Berserker, and Wolf the Half-Orc,” the master of ceremonies said, his voice echoing against the stands. “Contestants, please go get your equipment. May the System bless you all.”

We saluted the crowd and returned to our bench at the edge of the arena.

Wolf put on his gloves in silence.

“Do as we planned, Wolf. Minimize your openings and try to exploit your opponent’s attacks,” I said, grabbing his shoulders and locking eyes. “And remember, you don’t need to win. This is a team effort.”

Wolf nodded and walked to the weapons rack. Out of nowhere, Ilya spanked him as hard as her little gnome hands allowed her. The slap echoed through the pavilion.

“What was that for?” Wolf asked as he rubbed his rear end.

“The funny little men that kick the ball always spank each other,” Ilya replied.

“They are not that brusque,” Wolf said.

“Well, I can try again if you want,” Ilya said, rubbing her little hands. “I promise to be gentle.”

Wolf rolled his eyes and walked to the weapons rack. Without ceremony, he picked the same longsword he had chosen for the previous fight—a broad and heavy blade. Then, he took a deep breath and entered the arena.

“He’s nervous. I needed to shake him up,” Ilya said when she noticed Elincia’s look of disapproval.

“Really?” Elincia raised an eyebrow.

Ilya looked into the arena with a worried expression.

“I think Wolf is worried he would drag us down because he doesn’t have a Class.”